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CHAPTER 27

Owen William Rhodes

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His dreams were filled with gold so vividly he could touch it. Gold hair, dress, legs... He took her hand and pulled her close enough to feel the curve of her body pressed to him. He drowned in it. That feeling. And leaned down for their lips to—

Owen woke up out of breath. His hand combed through his hair, damp sweat sticking to him, and he kicked his blanket off. The night air cooled his skin. I need to get laid, he thought. It's been too long.

The cyng lay like that for hours, staring at the ceiling. Nobody threw him off his feet quite like Goldie. Dropping bombshells about his informant, haunting his dreams. He could not catch a break.

When morning came, he was exhausted. Breakfast was served with an uneasy atmosphere. No banter, no threats. Owen caught himself not only watching the West but his own kin too. The mood did little to improve throughout the day, with everyone keeping to themselves. It was as if staying silent would prompt Goldie's phone to ring. Alas, the dining room stayed quiet. And with each hour that passed, so did the battery percentage.

After the sun had set and dinner was finished, everyone headed to their rooms for an early night. Owen sat on his bed but could not bring himself to get in. Another sleepless night waited for him, and he had too much pent-up... frustrations.

In need of fresh air, he took his coat and scarf and headed outside. A sprawling lawn stretched over most of the Bowmen estate with oak trees scattered about. Dewdrops glistened on the grass, a mirror to the starry sky. A half-moon lit his path just enough to know where he went. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his scarf swaying in the cool breeze. Autumn was here. He never cared for the cold.

After exploring the estate, Owen neared the house again with dragging steps. A distant splash got his attention.

The cyng turned to the glass building, rippling patterns of blues glowed inside, and he headed that way. Steam rose in the pool house, fogging the glass walls and warming him up. The water was exceptionally blue, made vibrant by the foliage around him. And there, swimming in the crystal water, was the girl who haunted his nights. She floated on her back, her eyes shut.

"Late night swim?" Owen asked.

Goldie flopped, splashed, and turned to scowl. Still swimming on the spot, her hair floated around her darker than usual.

"You peeping again?" she asked.

Owen held his laugh. Oh, if only the distorted water could give him more to look at. He could only tell she was in a bikini.

"Hardly."

"Liar."

She turned away and swam back and forth, her arms cutting through the water elegantly. Owen had never met a girl with better defined arms. And it was nothing compared to her legs.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Cruel."

The boy laughed it off and was prepared to leave if she asked, but Goldie turned with a mischievous smile.

"You can take a dip if you promise to behave."

His eyebrows rose, and his heart skipped a beat.

"A gentleman always behaves," he said with his hand over his heart, then offered a smirk that said otherwise.

Slowly, he removed his scarf and coat, keeping eye contact with the girl. Owen's smile only grew when her face turned red, and she turned around. He took off the rest of his clothes until he was only in his boxers, and with a practised dive, cut into the water effortlessly.

Bubbles burst and blew around him. It was warm, warm like when he would wake up in the middle of the night. He kicked and broke through the surface, flicking his hair back as he took a breath.

Goldie watched him with only her eyes sticking above the water. In the glow of the pool, they were clearer than usual.

"Like what you see?" he asked, swimming over.

Goldie dipped down, then came back up to let her hair flow back.

"Not particularly."

"Liar," Owen mocked.

She snorted.

"Says the guy that made a bet on me."

He might as well have been punched in the face.

"Hey now, that whole thing was this informant's idea."

"Excuses."

"It's the truth."

"But she has to say, 'I love you'," she mocked in a deep voice. "Getting her in bed would simply be too easy for me."

She turned back to Owen, her eyelids heavy, unimpressed.

"Okay, I'll admit, it's a bad look," he said, slowly wading his way over. "But in my defence, I didn't know you back then."

Goldie tossed her eyes and drifted back.

"It doesn't matter if you knew me. That's not something you should say about any girl."

The gap between them stayed consistent.

"You'd get along great with my mum."

"Your family is much more likeable than you are."

"Want to be a part of it?" he smirked suggestively, and Goldie splashed him before turning and swimming off again.

Owen laughed and went after her, catching up.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, grabbing her hand. She slipped from his reach but stopped to turn back all the same. The look on her face was one his mum often had when he got in trouble.

Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe it was how familiar she felt, but Owen wore his heart on his sleeve and risked getting it crushed.

"To be honest, Goldie, as dense as it sounds, you change me." The rippling water drifted him closer to her. "So many women gave me a self-esteem boost, but you make me look at myself and see so much ugly. I'd wonder what everyone else even saw in me. Until it finally clicked. It wasn't me they were looking at. They saw the cyng of the East. Powerful. Rich. A guy who could give them anything they wanted. Nobody saw Owen. A boy too ugly for his own good."

Amber broke from his stare.

"You're quite the fixer-upper," she said. "Sexist, racist. I've got my hands full with you."

"Hey, wait a minute, I might be a bit judgy, but I'm no sexist. And where do you get off, calling me racist?"

She shrugged.

"I've heard you say some questionable things to Blake. Telling him to go back to his own country and whatnot."

Owen aimed to argue but stopped and thought back. Although he hated Blake, he never considered that his words could be seen that way. Was this really what others thought of him?

"And there you go again," he said with half a smile, "making me question myself. I suppose I got a lot more ugly to fix."

They were close enough for him to reach over and touch her.

"Oh, there's not that much more ugly, Owen," she said. "Your nose could use some work, but other than that—"

"Shut up."

He splashed her, and she defended, laughing. The sound was so infectious he gave in and joined her, splashing her again. Goldie returned the gesture, and a full-on war ensued before she kicked off and swam away. Owen went after her, managing to grab onto her ankle each time, but she kept slipping away. Their competitive sides kicked in, and the two swam hard in a hound and fox chase until the pool thrashed with waves and their lungs burned.

They approached the deep end, and Owen herded her to one side, forcing her into a corner. Nowhere to go, Goldie turned around just as he got her trapped, his arms shooting to grab either side of the pool's edge. She had her back to a corner and looked up at him with an out-of-breath grin that matched his own. They stayed like that, and he suddenly became aware of her mouth... of the water dripping down her bottom lip, slipping down her chin and plummeting to the pool where her chest was just visible enough.

"Behave," Goldie said, bringing his attention up to her eyes again. It was no better. Those were the eyes that tempted his dreams.

"Please," he whispered, "if you could allow me a kiss..."

He should not have bothered, knowing how pent-up he was.

"Only if you promise to forget it."

The boy froze. Did he imagine that? Was she teasing him again? Was she going to laugh? Her eyes were inviting, her lips ever so slightly parted, flushed in the heat, and her breath was a whisper.

Owen held nothing back.

He leaned down like he did a thousand times in his dreams, and their lips met, soft, testing. His eyes were closed, hands gripped the coarse edge of the pool, keeping him afloat. Arms wrapped around his neck like he was what kept her from drowning. He pressed closer, harder, his lips, his body. He pressed close enough to feel her heart hammering against him, matching the thrashing in his own chest. It was just as he remembered, just as he imagined. Sparks sent goosebumps down his skin. She was sweet, the taste of chocolate, and he bit down on her lip as if he could take a bite. Her breath caught, mouth parted, and he ate it up, his tongue finding hers.

He wanted to feel every inch of her, drag his hands down her body, but needed to hold on. It was torture. Sweet, sweet, torture. Tasting, but not touching. Pressed together, but not close enough. His nails dug into the concrete. He wanted more. He wanted to let go and drown with her. And when Goldie ran her hands through his hair, he nearly did just that. Owen pulled a hand back and traced it down her back, the dip of her spine. He travelled even further and gripped her ass just hard enough for her to gasp against his lips. He moved away from her mouth, travelling down to her throat, where he could taste salty water on her skin. He licked and bit down on her neck, his hand moving from her ass to her—

"W-wait," Goldie breathed.

Owen groaned against her, tempted to go mad and devour her whole. But he stopped. He went back to gripping the pool's edge with both hands and straightened to meet her eyes. She was breathing as hard as him.

"I... I don't want to go further than this," she said.

Her arms moved from his neck to his chest, ready to push him away if needed. His breathing calmed.

"Alright," he said. Her eyes averted, and he tilted his head. "You haven't gone further than that, have you?"

"Is waiting for marriage a problem?"

"Is that a proposal?"

"You wish," Amber scoffed, pushing at him. Her lip quirked just enough for the boy to notice. He drifted back leisurely.

"Jokes aside, I can respect your chastity. The first time's meant to be special. I'd never make fun of you for it."

He must have said the right thing for once because Goldie managed to look him in the eye again.

"So, you can be a gentleman," she said, invoking a chuckle between them. "Let's get out."

The two helped one another out of the pool and grabbed a towel each from the glass cupboard close by. They dried off separately.

"Was your first time special?" Goldie asked, pulling her pants on. Owen looked over long enough to realise she had been in her underwear the whole time. He glanced away quickly.

"I don't even remember my first time," he said. "Way too drunk."

Gosh, he needed to keep himself composed. He tried focusing on getting his clothes back on, zipping his pants.

"How'd that happen?"

There was a puddle in front of him, drops from his hair plopping down into it. His expression was blurry.

"Don't know," he said. "I had one drink and got wasted. Pretty pathetic. Don't even remember what she looked like. I mean, I remember her dress. All sequins and barely there. She had these red lips and enough makeup for it to be a mask. But that's it. I don't even remember what colour hair she had. Pretty lame story."

"How old were you?"

"Hmm, it was right after I became cyng, so fourteen, probably."

For a moment, the sound of him dressing was all to be heard.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Goldie said after a while.

Owen pulled his shirt on, yet to be buttoned, and turned to her. She was done dressing and stood still, watching him intently.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he laughed. "I got laid."

"You got assaulted."

His laugh was gone.

"She didn't slog me in the face."

"She took advantage of you."

Owen walked over, forgetting about his clothes.

"Don't get the wrong idea here. I'm a guy, and I was big for my age, even then. If I didn't want it, I could've easily stopped it."

"When you were too drunk to even know what she looked like?"

They were up close again, but the tempting tension that was there just a minute ago was now replaced by something uncomfortable.

"Stop that."

He was ready for her to make fun of him, belittle him. Instead, she hugged him. He froze up, his arms stiff by his sides.

"It's okay," she said, her head pressed to his chest.

Owen could not understand the situation. Goldie had the wrong idea here. She was naive to how the world worked.

"Whatever," he said but hugged her back.

By the time they pulled apart, Owen was flushed again. He returned to his clothes, buttoned up his shirt, and pulled his coat on. Picking his scarf up, Goldie was next to him, and he draped it around her neck.

"This again?" she asked while he secured it in place. "What's the deal with the scarf?"

"You should feel privileged. My mum knitted it herself. It was my dad's, but they gave it to me after I became cyng."

"Then stop trying to force it upon others," she said, taking the scarf off and giving it back to him. "You look ungrateful."

Owen glanced down at its woolly texture. He traced it with a finger absentmindedly, memories woven in between.

"I'm not ungrateful," he said. "It keeps me warm and safe. But... sometimes it feels a little much. Like it could strangle me."

The night felt too quiet, but before it could become unbearable, Amber reached over. She took one end of the scarf and draped it around her shoulders while keeping the other end over him.

"If it feels like too much for you, we can just share it. There's no reason why one person has to wear it all on their own."

They locked eyes and shared a smile that said more than words ever could. Content, they walked back to the house side by side.

"Thanks for the swim," he said. "And, the—"

"I remember a gentleman promising he'd forget that detail," Goldie stopped him. "We were just two strangers in a good mood."

Owen's lips were still flushed.

"Cruel, cruel girl"

It was safe to say that the cyng got little to no sleep that night. His dreams this time were held hostage by a golden mermaid, a siren tempting him to drown. Morning came and went the same as the day before, but Goldie stayed in her room. Owen could guess why.

By the end of yet another quiet day, he walked over to the dining room to check the phone. Fifteen percent battery.

Would it even last the night?

Owen walked back to his room when his phone vibrated.

Rat face
Meet me in my office.
22:48

It seemed Bowmen could not sleep either.

Contemplating it, Owen ultimately made his way downstairs. The house was dimly lit, quiet. He headed down a long corridor and passed a room with a blue glow. Inside the small space, the West's hacker stared at a wall of monitors, and without turning to look, he shut the door behind him.

Strange guy.

Owen's eyes narrowed, but he walked on, stopping in front of a frosted glass door. Unbothered to knock, he stepped inside.

The room was clean and crisp, with a simple glass desk in front of a fish tank, the only source of light. By the window, flicking his lighter on and off, was Bowmen. He kept his attention outside.

"You got something to say, or do you just miss me?" the cyng of the East asked. He went over the words to find any offence.

Bowmen turned to lean against the windowsill.

"Our mutual friend isn't calling," he said.

Owen strolled over to the tank and admired the fish.

"It would seem so."

"Is there anyone in your kin you suspect?" Bowmen asked.

"They've all been with me for years. Matt's dad was my dad's first kin. I grew up with him and the twins. Seane... keeps to himself, but he's been with me before our informant came into the picture. Besides, he's sacrificed a lot. It couldn't be any of them."

For once, a sneer or a mock did not come from Bowmen.

"It couldn't be Lynch or Calvin. Which leaves Enrique and Jack for me," he said. "But Enrique's been with us since he was a kid. He had no one else. Jack... I didn't know of him until a few months before the informant. I just became cyng, and our information was vulnerable. Everything was on the verge of getting leaked, but Jack saved the West without asking for anything in turn. He could've sold what he found but didn't. Built us a wall instead.

"When I asked him why, he said he knew my brother and owed him. If he was friends with Kyle, it made sense why he did what he did. I then asked him to join my ranks, but he declined initially. I offered money, status and anything he would've asked, but you know what he said? He said, 'Make me laugh, and I'll join you.'"

Owen turned away from the tank. The Western rat was somewhat tolerable to talk to if he was not being a prick.

"Did you do it?" he asked.

For the first time, Bowmen had a smile that seemed genuine. It was small, but it was there.

"I got him with a cat joke."

"I'd love to hear it."

"Only if I get to kill you."

Owen almost laughed and Bowmen smiled as he looked down at his hands, twisting his bracelet round and round.

"So, you see, I was hoping the liar would be with you," he said.

"Ditto."

The Western cyng had a heavy sigh. He pushed off from the windowsill and walked over to Owen, stepping into the light from the tank. All the humour was gone from his face.

"Then there's one more thing," he said. The cyng raised his right hand, the scar on his palm showing. "Amber knew about the bet, and although it was prompted by our mutual friend, it doesn't change the fact that our promise was in blood."

Owen ran his thumb over the scar on his own hand too.

"I was wondering when you'd bring that up."

"So, we understand each other."

"For once."

The two cyngs kept quiet in their agreement, but Owen could tell. Yes, the bet was irreversible, but even if it was not, he would still go on with it. Bowmen too. The prize was their bloodline doubling in size, but now there was more to their contest.

And they both wanted to win gold.

With their meeting concluded, the two boys left the office and parted ways, turning to head in different directions.

They stopped.

It was soft, distant at first, but grew insistent and real by the second. A ringing echoed through the house.

The cyngs turned to each other before they rushed to the dining room. Doors opened, and footsteps sounded. Everyone else came running as well, and they all gathered around the device.

There was seven percent remaining.

Goldie was there, a jacket thrown on. Her eyes darted over the group. Frowning, she picked the phone up and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?"

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